


Summer & Other Heated Things

by Atsvie



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: First Time, Fluff, Jailbait!Peter, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:01:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atsvie/pseuds/Atsvie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happens on a regular summer day that's too hot and sticky, but Peter is pretty happy with it. Peter loses his virginity to Wade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer & Other Heated Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArraFrost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArraFrost/gifts).



> For Arra because her super perfect fic, Am I Jailbait Now?, made me want more jailbait Peter so I’m giving her fluffy first times because that’s how we roll.

It’s a summer afternoon, not particularly different from all the other afternoons, when it happens. The air is warm and dry, but it’s a lazy heat that drags through the window and into Peter’s room. It’s quiet, save for hum of the fan as low backdrop to the diluted, scattered noises of life outside. Peter misses air conditioning and wonders why it had to go out in the middle of summer—but that’s just his luck, apparently.

But it’s not entirely awful, even though his skin is sticky with a light layer of sweat and his clothes cling to his skin when he tries to roll over on his bed. Wade’s weight on his stomach doesn’t make it any better, though, because he’s practically radiating heat and smothering Peter with it. He’d tell him to get off, but it’s comfortable to just lay out and do nothing for a change.

The city has been quiet, and even more astoundingly, Wade isn’t running off to tear down that tentative semblance of calm. Instead, he’s in the teenager’s bedroom rambling about evil zombie twins and being called a terrorist by his childhood hero—and maybe that’s why he’s static for longer than a few minutes; he’s immersed himself in enough chaos that even the merc with a mouth is ready to just chill.

“It’s really hot,” Peter mentions offhandedly in between the breaks of Wade’s recanting of his last job. He can practically see the eye roll behind Wade’s mask and can’t help but wonder how he’s managed to stay in his suit in this heat so long. (Aside from The No Mask Removal Policy that has only begun to tentatively break down with the promise of impromptu make outs. It’s a bit awesome, though, so Peter considers it a win.)

“You should go inform the weather station of that one, I didn’t think anyone knew about that until your genius has graced us with the really fucking obvious,” Wade snorts at him.

“Maybe I will,” Peter huffs back, but can’t help the small curve of a grin, “I would make an awesome weather man that no one would hate on, ever.”

“Breaking news, Spider-Man retires to deliver you your weekly shitty weather while you get mauled by thugs.” He says it in a low voice, impersonating a stereotypical news anchor and Peter laughs because Wade’s humor is stupid but so is his.

Peter props himself up on his elbows, Wade still flung over his stomach, but he shifts to accommodate the change in position. His face his buried in the fabric of Peter’s black t-shirt, voice slightly muffled. “Should just take off your clothes.”

“Alright.”

He pushes the larger man off of him enough to tug his shirt over his head in one fluid motion. It’s something that Peter does just because he rarely gets moments to throw Wade off guard, even if it means donning a deep red blush moments after. After a certain amount of time swinging around the city fighting crime, he’s inevitably developed visible muscle. He’s still lean, not so lanky and awkward anymore, but he’s nothing like Wade’s broad shoulders and heavier frame.

Still, his lack of shirt is nothing to scoff at. Peter isn’t embarrassed about his _body_ but more shy towards the concept as a whole. That the older is now staring at him intently, nodding appreciatively and _climbing_ on top of him in a straddle.

“You’re a weird kid,” Wade tells him affectionately and Peter tries not to pout because that would really defeat the whole purpose of his argument.

“I’m not a kid.”

The older laughs. “You totally are. But it’s a good thing I misplaced my morals or else I might have to fight my urges to deflower a minor.” He lifts up his mask enough to be able to lean in and initiate said debauchery with a firm kiss.

Peter’s breath hitches under the pressure of his lips. He’s not new to this, he should be used to the way that kissing Wade clouds any coherent thought he had before, how it draws a shiver up his spine and leaves his insides churning with want. But as much as he wants to keep up and not miss a beat, he still whimpers when Wade sucks on his lower lip.

There must be a game going on somewhere in Wade’s mind. It’s the game where he makes Peter gasp and moan unexpectedly, until he’s unravelling for him, until there’s nothing left of him still together. There’s hands on hips, a thumb running over his pelvic bone and crawling up his torso.

And it must be obvious—of course it is, because Wade teases him and the word _‘virgin’_ still hangs heavy over his head. It must be like a neon sign to him, bright and blaring, painfully unattractive. And it makes Peter squirm under him because he’s a smart kid—guy—but one can only catch on so quickly.

Peter wants this though. He wants the way that Wade’s hand is warm against the skin of his stomach and how his tongue licks at the roof of his mouth. Swallowing dryly, he leans forward and tugs Wade closer, hands on either side of his jaw because maybe he’s a little eager but Wade isn’t complaining—for as much as one can with their tongue in someone’s mouth—as they practically mesh together.

The room is still a haze of heat, but now their movements are a mix of lethargic kisses and skin against skin. His hands fumble and tear at the red fabric until that and his mask are unceremoniously tossed off the bed. Peter strips Deadpool of his suit, leaving a fully expose Wade Wilson. His mind feels heavy and sluggish, like he’s intoxicated with the way that the merc’s mouth diverges to his neck quickly after.

There’s a tongue on the hollow of his throat before there is teeth, and Peter tries not to screw his eyes shut with the moan that slips out because he wants to watch this. Right now he can let his eyes roam freely over the expanse of Wade’s back as he works on sucking dark hues into the flesh of his throat and collar.

He’s a healthy teenager, so it’s not surprising that he’s hard under the older man. But it’s almost thrilling to feel Wade’s arousal when he bucks his hips up impatiently, his jeans catching against the fabric of his boxers. And it’s just suddenly too much, too many layers between them, as Wade rolls back down against him.

The friction is just so _good_ though. Rutting against each other through what’s left of their clothes hadn’t been what Peter had been thinking of but that doesn’t make it any less hot. Both of them are all kinetic: hands clawing at any exposed flesh and hips grinding together, Wade’s mouth on his nipple— _oh god,_ Peter gasps as a pink nub is nipped at—and Peter’s head falling back.

Yet none of it is really what he’d expect from the merc. He hasn’t been shoved against anything, no blood drawn, and Wade has actually been painfully slow about it all. It’s like crescendo of touching, melting into each other, and it just keeps building and building until Peter finally opens his mouth because he just needs _something_.

“Can we just. You know. Fuck.” The words are broken fragments that fall out of his mouth as Wade looks up at him and grins.

“About time you asked. Told you we were getting some,” Wade says smugly, the last part offhanded. And it occurs to Peter that the bastard had just been _waiting_.

“I hate you,” the brunette mumbles, face coloring a bright red. Except as much as he wants to hate Wade, he just can’t. And even though it’s such a Wade thing to do by teasing him until he goes crazy, it dawns on Peter that this is actually happening. The weight of the other is suddenly so much heavier, like the heat in the room has become palpable because there’s no question anymore, he’s going to have sex.

“Love you too, Spidey,” Wade laughs, hooking his fingers under the waistband of Peter’s jeans. He keeps a steady eye contact with him, even as the jeans slide down his thighs and he has to remind himself to lift up so that they can continue sliding down his legs, boxers and all. He swallows thickly, looking away as his erection lays exposed against his stomach.

Wade kisses him again, like he knew to crush down all the jittery nerves that are bubbling to the surface. “This will be fun, don’t be so nervous,” he says, a crooked grin on his face, “Lemme show you how awesome sex is. It’s sort of better than chimichangas but just marginally. You’ll be wanting to fuck all the time, I’m that awesome. I would quote a rapper right now but I think that’s frowned upon.”

“Wade,” Peter pokes at him, “Alright, we’re having sex. Awesome. Just.” He doesn’t know how to phrase what he wants to say, like a version of ‘hey this is my first time, please make it not suck’ but phrased much more eloquently.

“Be gentle with you?” Wade laughs.

“Oh my god, please stop talking. No I will not call you senpai. The lube is in the drawer,” Peter groans, seriously starting to reconsider this.

Nodding, the merc rolls off of him to dig through the drawer with a murmur of, “The conveniently placed lube trope, of course. Not gonna complain.” And Peter doesn’t want to correct him because then he’d have to admit that maybe he has been wanting this to happen and actually went out and bought it.

He isn’t sure what he had been expecting. An immediate pop of the bottle and fingers shoved up his ass, maybe. But instead, Wade just drops the bottle next to them on the mattress and pleasantly positions himself back over the smaller boy. “Relax.”

“Yeah,” Peter nods, craning his neck to meet Wade half way for a rougher kiss. He lets himself ease into that, focuses on the familiar taste of his mouth and not the way their bare skin feels together. The scars are rough, but it’s not necessarily a bad thing—in all honesty, it’s more of the _concept_ of naked skin that’s more disconcerting.

And then Wade pulls away, retracing his path of red stained skin down his neck and collar, his hands following the contour of his side. He pays a visit to each nipple, lapping around the nubs and biting until Peter gasps and wonders why that’s even that sensitive. Peter is left lying fallow under his ministrations, only able to raise his arms so he can grip as his shoulders as he shudders.

Wade follows the lines of muscles down his torso, kissing at his stomach and his tongue hot on the skin of his hipbone. He seems pleased with the moan he receives, taking his time to nip at the plane of his waist and hips before finally, only when Peter is whimpering, moving further down. 

“Patience, young one,” Wade says sagely, but he can’t even yell at him properly—though he _does yell_ —because he licks a stripe up the length of his cock, his mouth briefly at the head. Unfortunately, the wonderful world of oral sex seems to be for another day, because Wade’s mouth is now at the inside of his thigh, which makes Peter dizzy from the playful bites and kisses there.

He doesn’t resist when Wade is nudging his thighs apart. He does hear the pop of the bottle a moment later though, and looks down to see Wade’s fingers being coated. For a moment, he wants to panic, but he knows that tightening up will only make this _bad_ so he tries to lay back and let Wade do his thing. Which seems to include cool, slick fingers between the cleft of his ass.

Peter has to remind himself to breathe when a digit prods at the pucker of his entrance. But Wade hums in approval, and his voice for once is something that Peter is thankful for as the finger presses in deeper.

“God, you’re tight,” Wade murmurs, nuzzling his inner thigh as he slowly pushes the finger in the rest of the way. It’s strange, not bad so much as it is foreign. Wade gives him a moment to get used to it, though.

If anything, Wade seems to be savoring every nuance in his reaction. He’s not rushing this, like Peter would have expected. The digit inside of him is just as sluggish as Wade’s lips on his thigh, dragging out slow before forcing its way back in, before wriggling like he’s got all the time to simply search out the spots that make Peter moan.

The first isn’t so bad, but he clenches down when he feels the added thickness from a second digit. It burns a bit, but Peter’s a big boy and he can do this. He can feel Wade stretching him open, commenting on how much he loves him like this—it makes Peter half tempted to see what ‘like this’is. Except he starts to not really care at all, because the discomfort is starting to bleed away as the fingers curl and start a rhythm with the right amount of friction that leaves him panting, face flushed and fingers clawing at the covers of the bed.

Peter feels like Wade is unravelling him from the inside out, sobbing around another added finger because the pleasure is something strange, but its overwhelming. Peter just craves more, more of Wade, anything he can get. And he tells him so, in broken words and moans, too disoriented to care that he’s begging.

“Just chill for me, okay? This will hurt so don’t freak out because if I just ram into you like they do in porn, I’m pretty sure you won’t be too happy with me,” Wade rambles, hands under his knees so that he can lift them up and situate himself between his legs. It’s only then that Peter gets a decent view of Wade’s cock, much thicker and longer than the fingers before, and he inhales sharply because fuck, thiswillhurt.

“We’re good,” Peter nods at him, offering him a dazed smile and avoids a geeky pop culture reference that could possibly stem into something else.

Wade hadn’t been kidding about the pain thing. Even though he had been thoroughly prepped, Peter still hissed in discomfort, winding his arms right around Wade’s neck for support. He could hear Wade groan, sinking into him deeper until he’s so, sofull. He lifts his legs to wrap around Wade’s waist when he starts moving, effectively coiling them into a mess of limbs and it’s like the epitome of intimate—he can’t imagine getting closer to anyone like this.

Peter can’t help but bite into his shoulder to muffle his moans, the pain starting to subside the more he relaxes and the pleasure soon taking its place with Wade’s slow thrusts.

“Peter.Peter.Love the way you feel. Just for me,” Wade moans against his ear with another roll of his hips. His cock pulls out enough to make Peter want to beg to be filled again, but the jerk back into him stifles that with a gasp instead. And it just keeps getting better, like with every moment Wade just adapts more to his body, more to the way that has him breathless and melting under him.

And for a moment, between Wade’s voice gruff in his ear and the quickening pace of his cock inside of him, Peter realizes that Wade is his first and has officially set this precedence for all of his other experiences. And he’s okay with that, because as Wade’s moans escalate in volume and he tenses up inside of him, filling him completely, he feels like this is a good thing despite all the bad. 

Wade reaches between them, still thrusting lazily into him as he pumps at Peter’s neglected cock. It’s over too quickly, but time itself is skewed so it may have been something closer to an eternity. But Peter arches off the bed, eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure engulfs him and he collapses.

“Awesome?” Wade asks, carefully pulling out of the teenager, not even trying to hide the wide grin on his face.

“Awesome,” Peter agrees, stretching out before he’s collected into Wade’s arms. He should have guessed that Wade is an extreme post coital cuddler, but it’s pretty nice so he just lets himself be nuzzled. “Though I’m going to be sore as hell. You better wait on me.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, princess.”

Peter huffs in mock offense. Whatever. As far as first times go, he’s pretty content with it all.


End file.
